Funkstille
by Trumpet-Geek
Summary: [misawa] Funkstille: a silence when everything has stopped, no movement, no sound, like the world stands still and is holding its breath, waiting for you to move again. Co-written with RainIsMyFavouriteColour.
1. 1

**Funkstille**

 _By_ : TG and RainIsMyFavouriteColour

 _Summary_ : Funkstille -A silence when everything has stopped, no movement, no sound, like the world stands still and is holding its breath, waiting for you to move again.

"Kazuya first notices the abnormal redness coloring Sawamuras face, clearly visible from where he crouches behind home plate, in the fifth inning."

 _Disclaimer_ : I don't own daiya.

 _Warnings_ : none

AN: this started off as a tumblr meme. rain reblogged the 'send me a one-sentence fic opener and ill write the next five' and i sent in the sentence and rain responded and then it just snowballed and here we are! the chapters are short bc we wanted to keep it in the spirit in which it was written, but updates will probably be frequent!

* * *

 _Kazuya first notices the abnormal redness coloring Sawamuras face, clearly visible from where he crouches behind home plate, in the fifth inning; he ignores his uneasiness and chalks it up to heat and exertion, but when his pitcher begins to sway on his feet in the seventh he feels the unshakable, vice-like grip of fear._

It's not professional, Kazuya tries to calm himself, tries to will himself back into controlling his own emotions - but then Sawamura's swaying causes him to lose balance in the middle of drawing up his leg to pitch. He falls, crashing into the mound below him, and doesn't move.

"Eijun!" Kazuya calls out, more panicked than he realises, and before he knows it, his helmet is discarded to the ground and he's next to Sawamura. He rolls him over, shaking with tremors that originate from somewhere deep inside him, "H-hey! Get up, this isn't the time to-"

Eijun doesn't respond even as Kazuya shakes him by the shoulders, head lolling from side to side and a sickly pallor below the bright red spots on his cheeks; he's covered in sweat and his breathing shallow, eyes fluttering, and that helpless fear returns which Kazuya had hoped he would never again have to feel.

* * *

AN: follow us on tumblr at kuramisawa and rainismyfavouritecolour!


	2. 2

The noise of the stadium falls away, dampened by the terrifying sound of Sawamura's harsh wheezing. Kazuya puts a hand on his partner's chest, tries not to feel crushed at Sawamura's lack of response. He's so used to Sawamura coming alive under his touch, back of his fingers against the scratchy fabric of the jersey over his chest.

This Sawamura is a Sawamura Kazuya doesn't know, has never met.

* * *

-TG


	3. 3

Kazuya can barely hear the harsh whistle blowing and calling the game to a sudden stop, isn't aware of anything but Sawamura trembling against him, until a pair of hands pulls Kazuya away and Sawamura is immediately hidden from view. People in white uniforms surround him and Kazuya can feel his panic close around his throat like it's suffocating him.

Kazuya doesn't realise he's yelling, throat sore, until he receives a rough slap to the face. It stings enough to get him to stop, but his heart is still hammering in his chest, an erratic beat foreshadowing a terrible event about to unfold.

"Calm down! This isn't like you." Kuramochi hisses at him, voice edged with anxiety.

* * *

-Rain


	4. 4

"Kuramochi -"

But Kuramochi's face is pinched with worry, and Kazuya knows, he knows, that Kuramochi is just as terrified by this turn of events as he is. But that doesn't calm the rapid flutter of his heart and it doesn't comfort him, because Sawamura is lying still in the dirt and he doesn't even know how.

"Medic!"

Kantoku is next to him now, hand on his shoulder and voice strong in his ear. It brings the calm that he needs to deal with the situation, and he feels it settle in like a film over the panic.

* * *

-TG


	5. 5

"What's happening?"

Kazuya lets the conversation wash over him, silently listening to the medic explaining something he can vaguely understand but not enough to rid him of worry completely.

Kuramochi settles a hand on his other shoulder and Kazuya only glances over at him for a moment, almost falling into his default habit of teasing and stopping himself just in time. Kuramochi's brow is furrowed, a deep frown pulling the corners of his mouth into a grim line.

Another glance at the team surrounding him makes Kazuya swallow hard; all of them are worried, faces ranging from hard and unreadable to shock and even anger. His gaze involuntarily travels back to the white uniforms crowding Sawamura. They heave him up onto a stretcher where he lies as still as ever.

* * *

-Rain


	6. 6

Kazuya wants so badly to go with him, wherever they take him, but he knows he can't. There's nothing wrong with him , after all, and to leave the team for which he is responsible would be the worst lapse of judgment, a slap in the faces of everyone who stares after the departing stretcher.

He is thankful that Sawamura still looks like himself underneath his overheated skin; he is not small against the white sheets but strong and wide and full of color.

It's a thought he grasps onto as Kuramochi claps him on the back, his hand lingering a little longer than necessary. "One out," he says. It's addressed to everyone, and the team jolts awake with soft murmurs and guilty glances.

He should say something inspiring, like 'Sawamura would want us to win,' or 'let's finish this game with dignity,' but all he really wants is to finish the game as quickly as possible. His mind is filled with worry from edge to edge and he knows this is his fault.

Why didn't Sawamura say something?

...Why didn't he notice?

* * *

-TG


	7. 7

"Stop blaming yourself," Kuramochi murmurs, lips barely moving to form the words, before pressing into a thin, grim line. Another shoulder squeeze later and he's gone, jogging back into position as he calls out to the rest of the players on the field. Kazuya is half thankful, shoulders feeling a little lighter, before something heavy drops back down onto them, into his stomach - something a little less like guilt and little more like anger.

He trudges back to the batter's box, steps wooden but hard and dry on the ground; the anger, directed at himself - _his fault, all his fault, why didn't he pay attention, why didn't he stop Sawamura, why_ \- colouring his vision red and then an icy blue.

There was no time for this, no time to waste emotion. So he would make time, Kazuya thinks as he crouches down and fixes their opponent team's pitcher with eyes sharp like glass shards, he would make time and finish this. Now.

* * *

-Rain


	8. 8

Kawakami looks back at him from the pitcher's mound, mouth drawn down in a frown and eyes wide with worry as he whips his arm around. Kazuya doesn't know what he's worried about, exactly -whether it's Sawamura's condition or Kazuya's.

He knows if asked he won't be able to recall what kinds of pitches he asked for, or who had done what at the plate. He barely remembers to keep track of the pitch counts and the outs, and is secretly relieved and grateful when the younger Kominato takes over for him, fingers counting down the outs -one two three.

It's strange, though, how focused he feels despite the heaviness of his body and the haziness of his mind. The need to finish is a single-minded determination that would put even Sawamura to shame, and the relief he feels when the umpire calls the game comes with a twinge of guilt.

Kuramochi rests a hand on his shoulder and squeezes a bit too hard. He gets it.

They line up and take their bow. There's no celebration as the opponent trudges back to their dugout, eyes fixed on the ground in defeat. Kazuya turns his gaze to Kataoka and the rest of his team follows suit, waiting for answers Kazuya doesn't even know he wants to hear.

* * *

-TG


End file.
